


You're A Good Man, Steve Harrington

by DeutchRemy



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode: s02e09 The Gate, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Jancy, Jopper, Parent-Child Relationship, no mike cuz he gets in the way, stancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeutchRemy/pseuds/DeutchRemy
Summary: Snippets of Steve's experience while back at the Byers' post-gate.  Obvious spoilers for S2E9.  Each chapter will feature his interactions with a different person.
Relationships: Eleven | Jane Hopper & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that I keep starting new stories instead of adding to my current ones...I get very scatterbrained sometimes and have a hard time focusing. I promise you, though, I WILL continue my other works, it just might take some time. Thanks as always for reading, and please, I LOVE reviews!

“Steve,” Hopper sighs, running an exasperated hand down his face. “You need to go to the hospital. Your face looks like absolute shit and it’s pretty obvious you have a concussion. You need a doctor to evaluate you and determine if and when you can go to sleep. I don’t play games with head injuries, alright?”

“Hmmmm,” I mumble, knowing the chief is right but feeling pretty darn comfy in Joyce’s recliner. “I think I’ll take a pass on that, but thanks. And uh, Dustin put band-aids on my face so, you know, I should be good.”

My eyes are closed but I can practically hear the chief place his hands on his hips and strike a pose. The “I’m not arguing with you anymore” pose that dads like to do. Ugh. How am I gonna explain all this shit to my dad? Just thinking about it makes my stomach twist with anxiety. 

“Okay, you know what? Seventeen is not an adult. I’m - Joyce and I - are the adults here and we have the final say. So you can either stand up and walk out to the car yourself or Jonathan and I can carry you out. You have five seconds to decide. Five…four…three…”

I glance quickly at Mrs. Byers, who has stopped posturing with Hopper and now sits on the couch, holding her youngest child’s head on her lap and stroking his hair. Guess I won’t be getting any help from her.

“Two…”

“Okay okay, shit!” With a burst of energy that catches me off guard, I bolt out of the cozy recliner, immediately missing its warmth. That was a mistake. I almost fall backwards, back onto the chair, as I’m overcome with a head rush unlike any I’ve ever had before. A pair of large hands grabs my upper arms and keeps me upright, and I sway there for a few seconds as my vision goes really bright, then darkens, then goes back to normal.

I shake off the hands that hold me. “Alright alright, I’m fine. Jeez, quit hovering.”

“I’m so sorry that our concern inconveniences you, kid, but I’m not about to let you die of a brain hemorrhage in Joyce Byers’ living room.”

“Hop…” Joyce warns him, but he ignores her.

“Let’s go, Harrington. Now.”

Jesus Christ, fine. I drunkenly glance down at myself, making sure I’m wearing my jacket, then I sigh loudly and put one foot in front of the other to begin my walk of shame towards the front door. I cannot believe this is happening. I’m almost eighteen and being treated like a damn baby by the chief of police. Doesn't he have his own damn baby to look after?

Why do I have to do this? All I want more than anything in the world right now is to curl up in that chair and go to sleep. It's not fair - everydamnbody else in the house is sleeping. I could cry as I think about what's to come - being stuck in the car with the chief all the way to the hospital, probably spending far too much time in the waiting room. ER nurses who are crabby because it's stupid o'clock in the morning. They'll probably make me piss in a cup just for laughs.

I put my hand on the knob to open the front door but pause when I realize I’m not being followed. I turn around. Hopper, the man who looked ready to strangle me two seconds ago, is crouched down in front of the couch, in front of that girl. The girl who saved our asses just a few hours ago, who walked into Joyce’s house looking like some punk rocker and who has since been transformed into a sleepy little girl with curly hair who smells like Dove soap.

Hopper's aforementioned baby. The little girl he carried in and was in tears over.

El? Eleven? I think that’s what they’ve been calling her. Weird name if you ask me. Dustin tried to explain her story to me, and so did Nancy, but it's just...not clicking. Maybe I really do have a concussion.

She’s curled up on one end of the couch. A bare foot peeks out from the blanket that’s draped over her. Hopper’s examining the foot, it would appear, squeezing her toes and, from the looks of it, checking their color. 

Maybe I can get her to go to the hospital in my stead? 

"Her toes are still cold. Can she borrow a pair of socks?"

"Of course. Uh, Nancy?"

"Hmm?" My (former?) girlfriend, who's been pacing back and forth across the floor, biting her nails viciously, apparently deep in thought, snaps to attention.

"Would you be an angel and run down to Jonathan's room? He has a bunch of pairs of thermal socks in the very back of his sock drawer."

"Yeah, of course." 

As she jogs down the hall, I can't help but wonder what she was thinking about. Mike, maybe? Jonathan? Me? 

“Kid? El?” Hopper's voice, the gentlest it's sounded all night, pulls me from my reverie.

Okay so I was right - it’s El. "Short for Eleven", Mike's voice echoes in my head. Shut up, Mike.

A pair of tired little eyes open and, despite all the crazy bullshit this kid has undoubtedly seen tonight, she cracks a tiny smile when she sees who’s woken her up. God, if I wasn’t so pissed at Hopper right now I’d probably burst into tears. Hell, I still might. I mean, she isn't even his biological child, yet he’s given her more love in the past microsecond than my dad has in my seventeen years of existence.

“Ho-op.” Her small voice is so hoarse and broken it nearly undoes me. Somebody get this girl a popsicle.

“Hey, punkin’. How you feeling?” The chief asks, running the backs of his fingers down El’s cheek. Her response is a tiny squeak and a half-hearted shrug of the shoulder that’s not pressed against the sofa cushion. “Yeah? You sleepy?”

A little nod. That’s all she has the energy for. 

“Okay, sweetie. You go back to sleep then, and while you’re asleep I’m going to bring Steve to the hospital to get his head checked out. But I’ll be back before you know it, I promise. Sound like a plan?”

Now, as a kid with self-diagnosed abandonment issues, I recognize the look of fear in her eyes immediately, even from my spot in the doorway. Oh shit.

"N-no..." 

"I'm sorry, El, I don't want to go but I have to. Steve - he's that boy over there - has a bad injury to his head, and he needs to be seen by a doctor or else he could get really sick."

"Nooo..." The poor girl just repeats her plea and then frees her hands from the blanket so she can grab two weak fistfuls of the chief's jacket.

Hopper runs a hand down his face and I can tell, even from over here, that he's fighting his emotions. Now, I hate to use a child's tears to my advantage - I mean, after all, I'm apparently a babysitter now (when the hell did that happen, anyway?) - but they just may be the ticket I need to avoid getting in a car with that man. Not that he's a bad man, it's just, I'm not a fan of small talk with adults. Or lectures, of which there are certain to be several.

"Heeeeeeyyy, you know, it's probably best if we just stay here." I test the waters. The chief looks over at me. I swallow and continue. "Or, uh, I could go by myself. Cuz, I mean, look at her. She's really upset. You - you can't just leave her this upset."

The bearded man pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose. He seems to be weighing his options and finally speaks. Slowly. That's how you know shit's serious.

"Look. You need. An adult there. With you. Now I'm not saying I don't trust you, it's just that -"

"That you don't trust me."

"Look. Kid. This shit with the lab, with the demodogs, with the tunnels," he punctuates each word with a motion of his hand, "needs to stay quiet until I go through the proper channels, alright? You go blabbing about some parallel dimension that was torn open by Hawkins Lab to the ER doctor and he'll either put you in a straight jacket or the story will spread like wildfire. And we can't have the story spreading until I know that she," he points to the girl on the couch, "is guaranteed safety. So I need to be there to do the talking, okay? I mean, what would you even tell them?"

"Um...the truth?"

"Which is?"

"That Billy Hargrove beat the shit out of me because he's a psychopath..."

"It's true." Dustin appears in the doorway, hair wet and smelling of shampoo, wearing nothing but a towel. "All Steve's injuries," he points at my face, "happened before we even left the house."

"Dude, put some clothes on." I scold from across the room.

"Will doesn't have anything that fits me."

Joyce eases Will's head from her lap so she can stand. She moves towards Dustin and gently steers him back towards the hallway. "Sweetie, I think Jonathan probably has some clothes that'll fit you. Why don't you, uh, go see if he's in his room?"

"He's right, though." I tell Hopper. "Explaining this to an ER doctor wouldn't require a single mention of any of this crazy shit. Hell, I don't even have to mention Billy Hargrove. I can tell them that, uh, I accidentally hit myself in the face with a frying pan at Sears. So, uh, so I'll just drive myself to the hospital and you won't have to leave Eleven."

"Nonono, you're not driving yourself."

Jesus fucking Christ. It's one step forward, two steps back with this guy.

"Jonathan will drive you." Joyce says as she reenters the living room. "I just spoke with him."

Hopper pinches the bridge of his nose again and breathes deeply, as though he's gathering the strength to deal with me. "Okay. Jonathan will drive you."

I mean, I'd still rather drive myself (and by "drive myself" I of course mean "not go to the hospital at all and just drive my ass home") and have no desire to sit in a car and then a waiting room with Jonathan Byers, but it's preferable to partaking of those activities with Jim Hopper, Chief of Police.

"BUT." He holds up a hand. "We need to go over your story." 

Ten minutes later, I'm folding up an index card with all the details (so you keep it straight, Hopper tells me) and shoving it into my jeans pocket. He, meanwhile, has finally shed his jacket and is easing himself down with a groan onto the couch between Joyce and Eleven. Almost immediately Eleven begins struggling to sit up, whining and grabbing at the man. He looks concerned.

"Kid, what...what're you doin'? You shouldn't be getting up, okay? You have to pee or something?" He relaxes visibly when he realizes she's just settling herself onto his lap. "Oh, you're just getting on my lap? Okay, lemme help you."

The girl rests her head on the chief's shoulder and immediately falls asleep. Hopper doesn't look too far behind her.

"We'll, uh, be back as soon as we can." Jonathan tells his mother. He bends down to kiss Joyce on the cheek, then bends down further and plants a kiss on his brother's temple.

"I love you, baby." Joyce whispers up to her eldest son.

Jesus Christ. This is all the shit I've missed out on these past seventeen years. When was the last time my mom showed me love? When was the last time I sat on my dad's lap? Try never. And they couldn't even have been bothered to give me a damn sibling to make up for the love I wasn't receiving from them.

I clench my fists as I follow Jonathan out the door, hoping I can keep it together in the car. 

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

The silence in the empty waiting room is deafening. The emergency department is eerily quiet, and not for the first time I crane my neck towards the reception desk, making sure there's actually, like, other people here. Well, the cranky nurse in charge of intake is still here, at least, glowering at me over a stack of folders. Not sure what her problem is.

Oh man, this is really awkward. Me and Jonathan Byers. The only people in the waiting area. Why'd he have to sit in the chair directly beside me, anyway? There's like, fifty other chairs to choose from. Christ, he could at least have taken a chair opposite me. Is he trying to make this as weird as possible, or does he just have a hard time grasping social boundaries?

I need a distraction.

There's the obligatory stack of magazines right next to me. I grab the one on top. Some sort of physician's journal. I don't care what it is, as long as it gives me something to do other than sit in an awkward silence with Jonathan Byers. I open it and then remember what Carol told me back in 7th grade - about how her uncle contracted some sort of bizarre bacteria from a magazine in a doctor's office that eventually caused him to lose his toes. 

I put the magazine back down on the side table and excuse myself to the bathroom to wash my hands.

When I return, wiping my hands on my jeans, I steel myself for another half hour of sitting silently with the boy I suspect may have slept with my (ex?) girlfriend. Thank Jesus in heaven that no sooner do I sit back down in my chair that a nurse emerges from the back.

"Steve?" She calls out.

"Yo!" I reply, standing up a little too quickly and fighting a head rush.

Jonathan is standing up, too. Wait, why is he doing that? He can't possibly think he's coming in with me, can he?

"I'll come with." He mumbles, averting his gaze as he tucks his shirt into his pants.

"Are you family?" The nurse asks.

"Cousin! We're, uh, we're cousins." He replies before I can and flashes me a look that says "go with it". Oh, I think I get it. Hopper must've told him to go in with me to make sure I don't fuck up the story. Ugh. 

Five minutes later...

Knock knock knock. "You decent yet?"

"Gimme a minute, jeez." I grunt as I sluggishly tie the stupid hospital gown at the back. Not sure why I need this damn thing for a head injury. Sometimes I feel like hospitals just like to remind you that you're their bitch for the night.

"Well hurry up, cuz the nurse is waiting out here, too."

Oh for god's sake. I give up on trying to make a bow and settle for knotting the ties together. As tightly as I can, just to spite anybody who may need to undo it.

"Fine, come in."

The curtain pulls aside and Jonathan steps back in, magazine in hand, and takes a seat in the corner of the tiny room, as far from me as possible. My nurse follows him in and immediately gets to work taking my vitals. Thankfully it's a quiet night, and the doctor pokes his head in before she's even finished. He's one of those older doctors who's incredibly nonchalant due to the fact that he's seen just about everything there is to see. 

He feels my head up, shines a light in my eyes, orders some scans, cracks some bad jokes, asks me silly questions like who's the president of the United States, orders stitches for my face, diagnoses my concussion, and gives me a prescription for a high dose of acetaminophen. He tells me to get lots of rest, that sleeping is okay, but that I shouldn't be alone at my house for the first week.

And that was it. Granted, I've endured much longer ER visits in the past, but to drive all the way there and sit in that waiting room with the creepy receptionist glaring at me the whole time, just to be given some fancy Tylenol...just feels like a glorious waste of time. I plan on giving Hopper some serious teenage attitude when we get back to the Byers'. If I feel up to it.

Jonathan suggests we stop at the all-night pharmacy on the way back, but I wave him off. I'm sure his mother has some Tylenol in her cupboard that I can take if I feel really lousy later. For now, I'm freaking exhausted and just want to curl up on something soft and go to sleep.

We're about five minutes away from the turnoff onto their little dirt road when Jonathan surprises me.

"I think Nancy and I are tog-together now..." He's throwing tiny little glances my way, wanting to keep his eyes on the road but needing to see my reaction. He's nervous, if his little choke mid-sentence was any indication.

I shrug, feigning indifference. "Eh, I suspected as much." Playing it cool is the only way I'm going to keep my dignity intact.

"You - you did?" He sounds shocked.

"Yeah, I saw the little looks you were giving each other. It's pretty obvious."

He swallows then, hard, and I have a feeling that they may have done more than just cast some flirty looks towards each other. Gross. I fall silent, though, giving him the option of coming clean if he so chooses.

He grips the steering wheel a bit harder but says no more.

Good. Let him stew in his guilt for a while.

To be continued...


End file.
